


You Kill the Lights, I'll Draw the Blinds

by samalander



Series: Stay The Night [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Hawkguy, Nevada, Prostitution, Sex Work, hawkcest, hawkeye squared, hookereye?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samalander/pseuds/samalander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has been a hooker for most of his life, but he's never had a client quite like this cellist from New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Kill the Lights, I'll Draw the Blinds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [when-it-rains-it-snows](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=when-it-rains-it-snows).



> For [when-it-rains-it-snows](http://when-it-rains-it-snows.tumblr.com/), who started this all with that damn desert hooker shoot Chris Pine did for details and then kept asking for it, and well. Be careful what you wish for, Snows.
> 
> Title from Zedd (ft. Hayley Williams) "Stay the Night":  
>  _I know that we are upside down_  
>  _So hold your tongue and hear me out_  
>  _I know that we were made to break_  
>  _So what? I don't mind_
> 
>  
> 
> _You kill the lights, I'll draw the blinds_  
>  _Don't dull the sparkle in your eyes_  
>  _I know that we were made to break_  
>  _So what? I don't mind_
> 
>  
> 
> With thanks, as always, to the incomparable [enigma731](http://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/), who held my hand and cheered me on and betaed when I was done. Never without you, babe.

Clint pulls his pants on in the dim light of the hotel room, the soft skin of the woman next to him still glowing in the late-afternoon light that creeps through a crack in the shutters.

"You can't stay?" she asks, and Clint smiles and leans down to kiss her cheek as he scoops his t-shirt up from the ground.

"No, baby," he smiles. "You know I gotta go."

She smiles sleepily and nods. "'S on the dresser," she says, and it's not like she needed to tell him. The money is always on the dresser in his line of work.

He counts the cash as he walks out to his truck, the stiff twenties wilting a little in the humidity of the air. He's made a solid $400 for a few hours of decent company and a roll in the sack. It's not the life he'd thought he'd have, but it's not bad for where he is, who he is. At least he's not addicted to anything, or dying of some crotch rot.

Clint starts his truck and turns up the radio, the local country station playing a sad love song that makes him feel wistful, lonely. He imagines, like he always does, what it would be like to skip his exit, to keep driving on through the night. He's got $400 in his pocket and another two hundred in the bank. His truck might even make it to New York, if he drives smart.

When he was younger, he dreamed about being a superhero like Captain America. But it never happened. He's no hero; he's a medium-rate male prostitute in the middle of the Nevada desert, and the only things he's ever fought are dehydration and horny women. He's not brilliant like Tony Stark. He's pretty enough, some kind of wall of muscles and attitude, but who ever heard of a sharp-shooting hero? A guy with no powers except drawing a bow and bringing people off, if they can pay.

No, Clint decides, like he always decides, he's gonna go home tonight. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a month from now, he'll go to New York, find a way to live, to make a name for himself.

* * *

It's a little after one in the afternoon when he gets to the diner, and Clint is too tired for these kind of games, too exhausted from having sat up most of the night, restlessly tossing darts at his wall. The client today calls herself Kate, but there's a good chance it's not her name. He finds her in a corner booth as he enters, a battered copy of The Last of the Mohicans on the table in front of her. She's dark-haired and fair-skinned and looks about twelve years old. He feels a chill down his spine-- usually he lets the agency card, trusts Nikki and the others make sure, but with this one he decides he'll need to see ID. 

She's pretty, there's no doubt of that, but there's something else, something magnetic that pulls at Clint when he looks at her.

"Hi," he says, sliding into the booth across from her. He's got a purple flower clutched in his hand, which he offers her. His calling card. "I'm Clint. Nikki's friend."

Kate smiles and takes the offered flower, sniffing it delicately before placing it on top of her book. "Aster," she says. "Where'd you find that, this time of year?"

"I have people," he smiles, taking a sip of the water on the table. The waitress knows him, has been in this nowhere town as long as he has--longer--and she brings him a coffee without having to be asked. "Thanks, Tess," he says, and she grins back at him. He likes Tess, likes that she knows who and what he is, and doesn't have a thing to say about it. She says she leaves the judging up to Jesus, which is a decent sentiment, as such things go.

"You know her?" Kate asks, arching an eyebrow.

Clint shrugs and stirs creamer into his coffee. "What brings you out here?" he asks.

Kate studies his face for a long time. "I'm a cellist," she says, after a moment. "From of New York. My sister's friend-- I played a wedding. Yesterday. And I don't go back til tomorrow and it's a little lonely out here." She smiles, and it's like sunrise how genuine she is. "There's a lot of nothing."

Clint nods. "And you know the deal? Nikki told you?"

"Two hundred an hour, minimum of two hours," Kate says. "But I've got you all day?"

"All day," he smiles, taking a sip of coffee. "And I wanna see your ID."

She looks slightly surprised but fishes her wallet out of her oversized purse and slides a New York driver's license out of the pocket. _Katherine Bishop_ , he reads. And she's 20. So at least he won't be adding statutory rape to his list of crimes.

"Anything you wanna do in this lot of nothing?" he asks, handing the ID back to her. "I got my truck, we can drive out to the quarry, or you can go shopping and I carry your bags, or we can just go back to your hotel room and waste the day." He peers at her over the rim of his coffee cup, trying to mask the smile on his face.

"How about my place?" she says, smelling the flower once more before tucking it behind her ear so it stands out vividly against her dark hair. "Maybe we can go for a walk after."

Clint smiles more openly at her and tosses a couple of bucks on the table for Tess. "Ready when you are," he says, offering his hand. She shakes it-- her hand is dry and her handshake firm, and Clint _likes_ this one. He follows her out to the parking lot, enjoying the view she's affording him as she climbs into her rental car and tells him to follow. He thinks, as he climbs into his truck, that today might actually be kinda fun for both of them.

* * *

She shoves him against the wall as they stumble through her hotel room door and she kisses him, laughter in her eyes and her mouth wintergreen sharp. He tangles his hands in her hair, tilting her head up to get better access, kissing her like she needs to be kissed, like she deserves to be kissed.

They break apart after a moment and she studies him, her cheeks flushed. "Sorry, is kissing extra?"

Clint rolls his eyes. "This is gonna be a lot better for both of us if you try and forget what I am, okay? Pretend I'm your boyfriend, your fuck buddy, whatever, and that the only reason I'm here is to make you come exactly as many times as you want to. The money happens at the end, so forget about it until then."

Kate seems to be taken aback by that, her brow furrowing, so Clint tilts her head up again, kissing her lips softly before kissing the tip of her freckled nose and her forehead. "Go get on the bed, baby," he purrs. "Show me what you like."

She eyes him for a second before planting her hand in the middle of his chest and pushing him back against the wall. "Don't call me baby," she says, her voice silky-smoke as it coils around the pleasure center of his brain. They stand, toe-to-toe, for a long moment, eyes locked. Clint likes this girl, though he knows it's a mistake. He likes that she's a little gravel-rough, a little torn and tattered. He realizes he's holding his breath as she breaks eye contact, turns and walks towards the bed, casually stripping her shirt off and undoing her bra.

"Come on, stud," Kate grins, glancing over her shoulder. "These pants aren't going to peel themselves off with your teeth."

Clint laughs, an open and joyful noise, because that makes absolutely no sense, and it makes him giddy, lightheaded. She kneels on the bed, turning so he can see her breasts, the pert peaks of her nipples dark against her fair skin. Clint grins and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over a chair and peeling his t-shirt off before moving to join her, catching her hips and bending to lick her breast, sucking briefly on her nipple before looking up at her. 

"Tell me what you like," he says, moving them so she's lying with her head on the pillows, his arms braced on either side of her. "Condoms are mandatory, okay?"

Kate smiles and pushes herself up to kiss him with bruising intensity, their tongues tangling as the kiss deepens. He sighs at the slight tug of her hands carded in the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I like--" she swallows, her breath short. "I like sex," she laughs. "I like oral. I like having my tits sucked. I like--" She catches one of his hands and trails his fingers up her torso, skimming the swell of her breast before she brings it to her mouth, kissing the rough calluses of his fingers, her tongue lashing out to curl around them. "I like being touched."

Clint nods, his pants feeling tight at the wetness of her mouth on his hand. "Do you need a safeword?" he asks, but she shakes her head.

"I'll tell you if I wanna stop."

He grins again, putting his hand on her shoulder to press her back against the mattress. "I take direction well," he agrees, leaning in to kiss her neck, keeping one hand on the bed to hold him up, the other roaming the soft planes of her stomach, cupping her breasts every so often. He trails kisses down her body, stopping to dip his tongue into her navel before undoing the button of her jeans to reveal an inexplicably sexy pair of purple cotton panties.

"Fuck," Clint sighs, brushing a reverent hand over them before hooking his thumbs into her pants. She lifts her hips to help him, and for a second she looks young, in nothing but purple boy shorts and a slightly scared expression, Clint touches her again, his hands on her thighs. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Kate nods, and her face hardens, resolves into determination. He's not sure what the look means, but it's not his business. So long as she wants him to keep going, he's gonna do that, gonna be perfect for her, just like he's perfect for all the other women.

He smiles, kissing the length of her thigh. "You know," he says, conversationally, as if he wasn't undressing a twenty-year-old girl in a hotel room. "Purple is my favorite color."

Kate laughs, the tension draining from her shoulders as she does, and Clint takes the momentary distraction to slip his fingertips into her underwear, just barely brushing the soft skin, the patch of dark curls he can almost see through the fabric of her panties. She doesn't protest, lets him keep touching and keep moving forward, so he takes the initiative, sliding the oddly alluring scrap of fabric down her legs. "Damn," he sighs as he stares at her body spread before him, the smatterings of freckles reminding him of constellations, of the night sky. Her body is sweet, somehow, almost comforting. "You are fucking stunning."

"You're a liar," she says, grinning at him. "So lose the pants."

Clint does as he's told, pulling a few condoms from his pocket before reaching down to undo his fly and squirm out of his jeans and underwear. He tosses them aside before leaning down to kiss the crease of her thigh and trailing his free hand through the strip of hair above her slit.

"So," he says, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. "I'm still waiting for you to tell me what you want."

Kate takes a shuddering breath, his teasing fingers probing a little further, spreading the lips of her cunt, as she tries to keep it together.

"Will you go down on me?" she asks. 

"I will," he smiles. "But I'm a very conscientious whore, you know." Clint shakes his head, kissing her thigh again lightly. "I'd-- not that I think you've got anything, but I have to use a barrier thing, you know?"

Kate props herself on her elbow to glare down at him. "Are you honestly giving me a safe sex talk while you've got your fingers tracing my vag?"

Clint laughs, the sound erupting from him, though he can't say what's so funny about this. "I guess I am, huh?" he shakes his head and leans in closer, the scent of her arousal heady and sharp. "Though, if there was ever a woman I would break the rules for--"

"Uh-huna," Kate scoffs, unimpressed. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls. So come on, stud, either go down on me or get your fucking fingers in there, cause I was promised as many orgasms as I wanted."

Clint laughs again, surging up her body to kiss her smart mouth, to take the sting of her tongue and keep it inside, to try and stop himself from feeling something heavy in his chest, any kind of _fondness_ or _affection_. He slides one finger home inside her, causing her to gasp against his lips.

He concentrates, lowering his mouth to her tits, flicking her nipple in time with the motion of his fingers. She's quiet in bed, he thinks, but her hands are grabbing the top of his head, where the hair is too short to get a good grip, and her hips are meeting his thrusts. He slips a second finger in, and she whines a little.

"Clit," she rasps. He glances up at her, wickedness in his eyes, but her face is open and vulnerable, so he doesn't make the joke he was planning, doesn't remind her that his name is _Clint_ , dammit.

Instead he reaches up with his thumb, his finger still inside her, and presses against it slightly. It's enough for her hips to jump, a soft noise escaping her mouth like a gentle cry.

"Like that?" he asks, scraping his teeth over her nipple. She nods, writhing slightly, trying to give him a better angle. He takes the cue, crooking his fingers and flicking her clit at the same time, earning another noise of pleasure from her as her fingers tighten on his head.

"God," she sighs, swiveling her hips. "Don't stop."

He speeds up, teasing her with another finger and increasing the pressure on her clit. She squeezes her eyes shut, her face flushed and gorgeous. He kisses her neck, leans up to nibble her earlobe, and finally her lips, trying to capture them in the moment that she comes for him. He doesn't get it, she's still grinding down on his hand as she kisses him and moans. 

"Come on," he whispers against her ear. "Katie-Kate, come for me."

That drives her over the edge, the small endearment making her eyes snap open and he watches her face as the tension drains from it and her muscles clench around his fingers.

She doesn't cry out, just lets out a soft sigh and a sweet little noise while gripping his shoulders so tightly he knows he'll be wearing her fingerprints for days.

Clint pulls her into his arms, rolling onto his back so she can pillow her head on his chest, puffing hot breaths onto his skin as she comes down. She smells like lilacs, he decides, a bright flowery scent that sends warmth pooling in his belly. He strokes her hair softly, the raven-black tresses setting off her skin and the unbearably cute freckles in a way that he finds downright alluring.

It's only a few minutes before she looks up at him, her eyes brilliantly blue. "Not bad," she grins, the side of her mouth curling in a half-hearted sneer. "What else can you do?"

Clint kisses her again, mostly to shut her up for a second, before he says something he'll regret, before he shares something she has no right to. "I can fuck," he shrugs. "Perfectly serviceable cock."

Kate laughs, and rests her forehead on his shoulder for a second. "No, I mean--" she shrugs. "What do you do when you're not fucking?"

"I take day work sometimes," he says, and it's mostly true. "I learned how to ride a horse when I was a kid, and herding's pretty good work when you can get it. I also do odd jobs here and there, for Tess-- the waitress at the diner, and some of my neighbors. I'm handy."

Kate stares into his eyes, her brow furrowed. "Not really what I was asking," she says, and he shrugs.

"What about you, miss cellist from New York? What do you do when not jetting around to play weddings?"

She shrugs, the same look of avoidance on her face. "I'm-- I guess I go to parties. A lot of parties. It's boring."

Clint smiles ruefully. "I've been to some of those parties. People hire me to tag along in a tux and pretend I'm not being paid."

Kate nods. "I've done that, every now and then. Paid for company. We all do, and we all pretend we don't."

He doesn't say anything, just waits for the wistful look on her face to wash away, replaced by something more determined, more like the Kate he's known so far.

"I shoot," she offers. "Bow and arrow, mostly, but guns sometimes. My dad thinks it's crazy."

"Why?" he asks.

"Rich girls don't shoot," she says, her voice soft, like there's a secret in it. "But I-- I feel safer, you know. Knowing I can."

Clint doesn't press, lets her have a little corner. If she wants him to know, she'll tell him. If there's one thing he's learned in this line of work, it's to let the clients talk when they want to talk.

"So," he smiles, when the silence grows long. "That was a fun twenty minutes. What next?"

Kate raises an eyebrow, a look on her face that Clint would call sardonic, if he was sure what the word meant. "I wasn't aware we were done," she says, her voice sharp. "I thought I got as many orgasms as I want."

He rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "You're gonna make me regret saying that, aren't you?"

"I mean, that's the plan." She keeps their eyes locked as she moves her hand slowly down his body to his hip. "So, if I said I want to bounce on your dick?"

Clint actually laughs. "You have a way with words, Katie."

"It's Kate," she says, nipping his lip. "Not baby, not Katie, not sweetheart. Kate."

He bears his teeth in a rough approximation of a smile. "Sorry," he grunts, canting his hips up as she palms his cock. "I'll try to remember."

She has a joyous look in her eyes, something almost triumphant as she starts stroking him. He lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. It's not every girl who worries about his pleasure - most of them want to come hard and leave when he's done, but Kate seems to get a kind of happiness out of manipulating his body, bringing him to where she wants him. 

With his eyes closed he misses when she moves, thinks the shift is because she's reaching for a condom, but the first slick, wet lap at his cock brings him back, causes him to sit up.

"No," he says, catching her shoulders and hauling her up to sitting between his legs as he goes soft in shock. "Kate. What are you-- are you going down on-- what are you _doing_?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You don't want a blow job?"

"I do," he protests, letting out a breath. "But-- no. Not-- use a condom if you're gonna go down on me, okay?"

"I don't--" Kate looks confused, unsure what his problem is.

Clint sighs. "You-- you really want me to give you the safe sex talk again? I know I told you to forget that I'm-- being paid. But you-- would you go down on a stranger in a club? You don't-- be safe, huh?"

She nods, grabbing one of the condoms he dropped on the bed earlier and pressing it into his hands. "What if we just fuck?"

"Yeah," Clint sighs, lying back and taking himself in hand, trying to get his erection back. "Yeah, fucking is good."

She's looking at him predatorily, like she's hungry for something, like his insistence on her safety- and his- is sexy, like she enjoys being cared for. Which, she wouldn't be the first client Clint had who wanted him to be protective, she just has a weird way of going about it, a way of standing in the line of fire and waiting for him to pull her back.

Still, her eyes rake over him, and he shivers, the blood rushing to his crotch. 

"That's hot," she says, nodding towards his hand. "You touching yourself."

He laughs softly. "You're a weird lady, Kate Bishop."

"Tell me something I don't know." She shrugs, resting her hand over his, feeling the way he moves as he strokes himself, the way he swipes his thumb over the head, the twist of his wrist at the bottom. She takes a second to study before moving his hand out of the way, taking over. She watches, almost rapt, as his cock stiffens for her, and he keeps his eyes in her, enthralled by her attention, the passion and lust on her face.

He opens the condom in his hand, but she takes it from him before he can do more, rolling it down his shaft almost gently. Her touch is light, which makes Clint's heart pound faster. She's deceptively kind and a little loving, but he can't let himself fall into that, can't let himself get caught up in admiration or other vices.

"Doing okay there?" she asks, her voice faux-cheery, and it occurs to Clint, for the first time, that there's something about this encounter that's strange for her, something beyond paying him. Something about power, maybe, or desire. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't need her psyche bared so long as her wallet is open. 

"Yeah." He nods. "You?"

Kate nods, a curt movement, before sitting up on her knees and positioning herself over him. He closes his eyes and wills his hips to stillness as she sinks down, the warmth of her body intoxicating, perfect and real and whole.

She pauses when she's flush against him, her breath coming in soft puffs as her hands scrabble at his chest, trying to get her bearing. He grips her hips, mourning the loss of her freckles as his hands cover them. "I gotcha," he breathes, "I'm here, Kate. I've got you."

A soft noise escapes her throat, something that might be panic, and Clint's heart is in his throat as she seems to take the time she needs, as she copes with whatever she's coping with.

"Sorry," she whispers, when she has a hold of herself. "I just-- Sorry."

Clint nods, making eye contact with her. "This can stop any time," he says. "You don't owe me anything, okay? Say the word."

Kate shakes her head, moving her hips slightly. "Make me feel good?" she asks, her hands gripping his wrists, using them as leverage to move herself, to start fucking him in earnest. He takes the cue, takes his left hand off of her and reaches down to find her clit, drawing slight circles around it with the tip of his thumb as she sets up her rhythm.

"Good?" he asks, trying to read her face, and she just nods, making another soft, sweet noise.

"Keep talking," she says. "Tell me-- tell me good things?"

Clint blinks at her, wracking his brain. He's good at dirty talk, has written odes and haikus to other lovers, but this is different, somehow. Everything about Kate is different.

"You're--" he says, losing his breath for a second as she rocks forward. "You're a special woman, Kate," he pants. "You're beautiful and smart and-- and you care, huh? Like, in a real way?"

He swallows hard as her eyes meet his again, the brilliant blue of them suddenly setting his blood on fire. "Yeah," she nods. "Yeah, I fucking care."

"And you-- you're more than-- than you think you are." She's speeding up, and Clint doesn't know if it's his words in her ears or his fingers on her clit, but he can almost feel her snapping, imagines the lines that tie her down are coming undone and untethering her. "More than a rich girl, more than a boring woman at a party. You're smart, and you're-- _oh_ \-- complex, right?"

Kate screws her eyes shut, another low moan dropping from her mouth as she moves, her head suddenly thrown back as she rides him, taking and taking and taking, and fuck, but Clint wants her to have it.

"You-- you're amazing, and I, you know-- _Christ_ \-- I just met you, but, fuck, Kate. You're no one's baby, you're not Katie, you're you and you're amazing and-- _fucking_ \--" Clint breaks off as she drops forward, her mouth sealing over his in a desperate kiss, her hips still moving.

"Fuck me," she sighs against him, and Clint does, takes the invitation to roll her over and prop himself up on his arms as her thrusts into her.

"Gonna fuck you," he grunts. "Gonna make you fucking come, yeah? Strong, pretty Kate, amazing Kate, gonna be so good for me, gonna fucking come again, right on my cock? Yeah? Is that what you're gonna do?"

She moans openly, and Clint kisses her neck, moving a hand to cup her breast. He rolls her nipple between his fingers and she growls slightly, nipping at his bottom lip. She's close, Clint can feel her tight muscles fluttering around him, spurring him on, forward, faster and harder as she pulls his head down and kisses him breathless.

Her body goes rigid under him for a moment before her eyes fly open and she lets out the same little sigh as before, her orgasm ushering his before it, and they collapse into a heap, panting and sweaty, their bodies tangled.

Clint takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of her skin against his, the sweet, soft flush of her cheeks and the smell of lilacs overpowering the smell of sex and sweat. It's makes him think of the cheer of a crowd at the circus before his show would start, the stolen nights in the caravan, holding hands with the girl who rode bareback. He feels young again, like he's her age.

The feeling passes and Clint pulls out of her, standing to roll the spent condom off. He steps into the bathroom to clean up for a second, tossing the condom in the trash and splashing some water on his face. When he comes out, the light's still glaringly bright in the room, Kate's crawled under the covers of the bed, and it occurs to him that they didn't even bother to do that, that he was so busy getting his mouth on her that they just fucked on the coverlet. He smiles and she yawns, her mouth a soft pink. He wishes sadly that he could have let her go down on him, that this was a real something and not just a transaction, but he sets his jaw and smirks at her.

"Tired?" he asks, leaning against the wall.

Kate rolls her eyes at him, but scoots over to the side. "Come on, stud," she smiles, patting the bed next to her. "I'm paying you two hundred an hour, you can be my pillow for a while."

He laughs--and he's doing that a lot, he realizes, which is a little strange for him, to laugh during a job--but he shuts off the lights and climbs into the bed next to her. He gathers her in his arms, her head resting on his chest, the little spot between his neck and shoulder that Barney used to call the _girl nook_.

They lie there a minute before her breath gets unsteady and she extracts herself from his embrace. The mattress shifts as Kate stands, stretching briefly. "Stay," she says, holding out a hand. "I'm gonna pee. And then that thing, about you being my pillow."

Clint lets his eyes close while she's gone, but it's only a few moments before the toilet flushes and the water runs, and she pads quietly across the room to climb into bed and settle against his chest again.

"Why are you in Nevada?" she asks, tracing a pattern in his chest hair.

Clint thinks for a long moment. "It's where I ended up," he says simply. She doesn't reply, and the silence grows between them, moments fading into minutes before Clint lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm from Iowa," he says, staring at the textured ceiling. "My parents died when I was ten, and my brother and I ran away from the group home to join the circus."

Kate grunts in disbelief but Clint just shrugs, her head raising with the movement. "I know it sounds fake," he says. "Honestly, the fake story is way better. But I was a circus performer until I was seventeen or so, and then I got-- dropped. Here. And I've thought, you know. About leaving. But the money is good and the people are okay." He sighs, thinking of the dark highway, the lights of his exit, the impetus to drive on through the night. "I don't know," he says, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. " I can see six clients here and have enough for rent and food for the month. Couldn't do that in New York City, huh?"

She makes a small noise. "I guess not. But you-- you could do other things."

"Nah," he sighs. "This is what I'm good at."

"Oh," she says simply, but he's pretty sure she has something else to say, something else she wants to tell him or ask him. She wouldn't be the first one who's tried to save him from himself, tried to tell him that he should be more--like he has any idea what more even is.

Clint kisses the top of her head gently and gives her a squeeze. "You're sweet to offer," he says. "Really."

Kate doesn't respond, just yawns again and plasters her body along his side, tangling their legs once more.

* * *

She insists on buying him dinner when they wake, taking him to the only thing approaching a fancy restaurant in the town. As Olive Gardens go, it's not bad. They eat too many bread sticks and she orders the most expensive wine on the menu, scoffing at the idea that $100 is a lot of money. Clint doesn't tell her what $100 can get in a town like this, that he sucked dicks for that $100 she's blowing when he was younger, before he got with the agency. But she sees the look on his face anyway, and changes the subject.

He ends up telling her stories, mostly true, about getting into the whoring business. Long days perched in the back of his truck, the FOR SALE sign behind him suggesting everything the law didn't let him say. 

"It was rough til I turned 21." He shrugs, draining his wine. "But that's the way of it. Sometimes you gotta work with what you have."

Kate nods, poking at the limp pork chop on her plate. "What did you do in the circus?"

"Believe it or not," Clint tells her, raising an eyebrow, "I was a marksman. Bow and arrow, like you."

"Huh," Kate says, keeping her attention on her plate.

"Did you-- is something wrong?" he asks, reaching out to cover her hand with his. It feels like an intimate moment, one he has no right to, but she doesn't object, turning her hand in his to entwine their fingers.

"No," she says, smiling sadly. "I just-- I guess I'm wondering, you know, what it would be if we met another way. In another life."

Clint nods. "And what did you decide?"

"I think we'd be friends," she says, her voice sad. "I don't know if we'd fuck, but-- but I bet we could have some fun."

He drops his gaze, something about the earnestness in her voice pulling at him.

"Do you wanna go for a drive?" he asks, wiping his mouth. She looks relieved as she nods, and calls the waiter over.

* * *

He takes her out to the desert, to an empty place not too far from town. It only takes 30 minutes to shake the lights, but the horizons to the south and west are still glowing. "That's Las Vegas," he says, gesturing south. "And Reno over there."

Kate nods and climbs out without a word. He follows her with a few blankets - which, technically, are for horses, but they'll do - and joins her in the bed of the truck, where she's settling with her back against the cab.

"Do you know the constellations?" he asks, draping a blanket over her legs.

"No," she says, shaking her head as he sits next to her and she leans into him. "I mean, I used to go to camp in Michigan. Interlochen. And we could see a lot of stars up there. But we never named them."

"Oh," Clint laughs, draping his arm over her shoulder. "Cause the only one I know is Orion. And it only shows up in the winter."

Kate giggles softly, curling her feet under her. "You come out here often?"

"Sometimes, you know. I don't always sleep well."

She nods. "I know that feeling. I've had trouble-- recently. But it's getting better."

He doesn't say anything, just rests his cheek on the top of her head. It's clear, clear like the sky, that Kate is healing from _something_ , but it's none of his business what it is, what he's for, unless she wants to tell him.

"You ever been to New York?" she asks, her voice soft in the empty night.

"No," he shrugs. "Did a show in Jersey, once. It was a dump."

Kate laughs. "You be nice to Jersey," she grins giving his shoulder an affectionate shove. "I'm from Jersey."

Clint smiles and shrugs out of his jacket, which he hands her. "You're shivering."

"Oh," she says, shrugging it on. It isn't until she shoves her hands into the pockets that Clint realizes his mistake, and he watches in slow motion as she pulls out the baggie with pills in it, holding it up to the light.

"That--" Clint sighs, and takes the bag from her. "Promise not to laugh at me?"

She raises an eyebrow, but makes no such promise.

"It's Viagra," he says, hanging his head. "My paycheck-- I gotta keep it up if I want to get paid, and sometimes I need, you know, help."

Kate laughs, silvery bells in the night air. "I thought it was gonna be like, LSD," she says, her breath clouding in front of her mouth. 

"LSD pills?" he asks, not quite sure what to make of it.

"Hey," she holds up her hands defensively. "Don't blame me, I was-- I didn't know."

Clint rolls his eyes and shakes his head, letting her curl into him again as he pulls the blanket across his legs, too.

"Did you use it today?" she asks.

"No," he says, finding her hand under the blanket and lacing their fingers together like they did in the restaurant. "Didn't need to."

She doesn't say anything, but Clint imagines that he can feel her heart beating against his side. He pretends it's racing like his is, that she feels this whatever-it-is between them, too.

"Would you-- what if I bought you a plane ticket?" she asks softly.

"A plane ticket?"

"Come back to New York with me."

"Kate--" he sighs. "We-- you don't even know me. You don't even know my last name."

Kate shrugs. "So tell me your last name. I have an extra ticket, you know. For my cello."

"No," he says softly. "I'm sorry, but this-- this is my home. And I-- I mean, I'd be lying to say I never thought about leaving, I do. But I can't. I have a contract with the agency, and I-- What would I be in New York? Another two-bit hooker in a world full of them? It's hard enough to be a guy in this world, you know, even when I'm a rarity. I have regulars."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, just lets the last of his words drift away. "Those are some real nice excuses, Clint. But-- you know what? I think you're scared."

"Uh-huna," he snorts. "And you hired a whore cause you're bored? Let's not pretend we're innocent or truthful, okay? This is what it is. And-- and I'm sorry I don't wanna be the kept man of a girl almost half my age. I just-- I can make it here. I don't know if I can make it in New York."

Kate sighs and shifts away from him a little. "Okay," she says. "Sorry I brought it up."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Do you want to go--"

"Yeah," she says, her voice heavy, like she might cry.

"Hey," he says, reaching for her. "What's-- I'm sorry. I wish I could, okay? I'd go with you if I could."

She shakes her head like she knows he's lying, but she still lets him pull her close and kiss her, his hands cold on her face as he cups her cheeks. She breaks away first, leaning in against his chest. He pretends not to notice her crying, the soft shaking of her shoulders as he pets her hair softly. He wishes he knew how to help her, what she needs. But instead he holds her and breathes in the scent of lilacs. Neither one of them speaks until he starts to shiver under the blanket, missing the warmth of his coat.

"Take me home?" she asks, her voice water-logged and tight. Clint doesn't say anything, just helps her down and back into the truck.

The ride back to her hotel is quiet, but she lays her hand over his on the gearshift and leaves it there until they pull up.

"How much?" she asks, finally, when he pulls up to the parking lot.

He glances at the clock. "Two thousand," he says, his heart aching at the idea that it'll be the last thing they say to each other. 

She opens her purse and counts out the stiff hundreds with precision, the kind of calculated movements that remind him of a performer, a person who relies on timing to get through their act safely.

"Here," she says, handing over the stack. "And you know, you ever make it to New York--"

"Yeah," he says, folding the bills and shoving them into his pocket.

She opens the door and jumps down, her eyes red and swollen in the light of the streetlamps.

"Kate--"

She turns, silhouetted for a moment like an angel. "Yeah?"

"Barton. My last name. It's Barton. Clint Barton."

Kate nods slightly. "You got a phone?" she asks, and he pulls it out of his pocket wordlessly. She takes it and presses the buttons for a few moments before handing it back to him. "I mean it. You make it east--"

"I will," he says, swallowing hard. "Have a safe trip."

"Yeah." She smiles sadly once more. "Bye, Clint Barton."

* * *

Clint pulls his pants on in the early morning light, the room stained sunrise-gold and the woman in the bed still sleeping soundly under the motel coverlet. He slips the money off the dresser and slides it into his pocket, not even bothering to count it. She's a regular, and she knows better.

He walks to his truck, the sun warm on his leather-clad back. The country station is playing a sad love song, the kind where no matter how bad your life is, at least someone has it worse.

The exit looms in from of him, the one he'll take to go home, to take a shower and change, to wait for another call, another client, another $600 and another night of thinking about holding onto a woman in the bed of his truck, breathing in lilacs and petting her head as she cries.

The exit is on the right, but Clint doesn't turn on his blinker. He lets it pass, watches the back of the sign recede in his rearview mirror. His stomach feels sick, turns and tosses, but he has enough in the bank, and he has a place to go.

He turns down the radio and reaches into his pocket, pulling his phone out.

Her number is the first one, listed as *Katie-Kate, just like she left it weeks ago. Clint smiles, finally pressing the call button. He grins wider as the phone rings, as he waits to hear her voice, and he drives east, the sun rising in front of him.


End file.
